1. Colour of magic ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
All legends must, inevitably, have a point of origin. For the inimitable Discworld series, this diminutive volume—oft-overlooked depending on the edition (particularly when deprived of Kirby’s illustrations)—constitutes the zero point, the Big Bang, the fiat lux.
A flat world, disc-shaped (a veritable delight for the modern flat-earther, albeit one lacking the cranial geometry requisite for such a read), rests atop the backs of four colossal elephants (a fifth exists, though we shall not entangle ourselves with it just yet), themselves poised upon the mighty carapace of the cosmic turtle, Great A’Tuin, who swims through the sparse aether of the universe, seemingly without destination. Of course, water cascades endlessly into the void from the rim of the disc; naturally, there is no 'north' or 'south', but rather 'hubward' and 'rimward'; and indeed, there is magic, heroism, cowardice, wizards, books so potent they must be chained down (yet still manage to plant spells into the minds of hapless apprentices), and—perhaps most fantastically—a tourist. With a trunk...
Terry Pratchett (who, most tragically, succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease in 2015—a cruel irony for a mind so incisive) skewers every cliché of the fantasy genre—swords, sorcery, and dragons, as one might say in plainer speech—with unparalleled wit, never missing an opportunity to draw trenchant parallels with our own world. These parallels, as the series progresses, become increasingly sophisticated, increasingly ludicrous, and, correspondingly, increasingly delightful—culminating in an entire spin-off metatextual series: The Science of Discworld.
The narrative is not, one must note, self-contained in this first instalment. It finds its resolution in the second volume, The Light Fantastic—in essence, the two comprise a single diptych. Nonetheless, the foundation is laid, the seed planted; whether you shall be enchanted by the exceptional prose of one of the 20th century’s most sagacious authors is now, quite simply, a matter for your own discovery. If you are only now embarking upon this journey, I must confess—I envy you. For before you lies a corpus of over forty unwritten (for you, at least) tomes, filled with marvel and delight. Granted, the later volumes bear the melancholy mark of Pratchett’s illness, and, lamentably, his publishers continued to exploit the franchise... yet, from a certain point onward—when his style attains full maturity—the humour gracefully yields primacy to philosophical resonance, without compromising the pleasure of the text.
Tarry no longer. Awaiting your acquaintance are the most ineffectual wizard in all creation (though he at least bears a hat which clearly proclaims his station), the most ingenuous tourist the Disc has ever known, and a magical world, vast and strange, for you to explore in their improbable company.
2. Light Fantastic ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
If The Colour of Magic was the initial spark — the proverbial kick to the gears — then The Light Fantastic is the blowtorch (or the choke, or the flap, or indeed the compressor) that irrevocably sets the Discworld engine in motion. It is not a "sequel" in the conventional sense; rather, it constitutes the indispensable second half of a single, continuous narrative. A book that commences precisely at the final page of its predecessor — almost as if that page had never been turned.
The thoroughly inept wizard Rincewind (rendered as “Ανεμοβρόχης” in the Greek translation) continues his valiant attempts not to die; the ever-optimistic tourist Twoflower (Δίανθος) persists in documenting, with charming naïveté, the most chaotic world in the cosmos; and the Luggage continues to scurry about on its hundred little legs, brimming with the zeal of a... homicidal puppy. Meanwhile, Magic begins to shake the very foundations of reality; the great turtle A’Tuin edges ever closer to a celestial consort; and the wizards of the Unseen (and highly magical) University — who never miss a chance for subterfuge — attempt to “resolve” the crisis in the most traditional of manners: with rather more magic, and only marginally less reason.
Pratchett retains the same frenetic, almost cartoonish energy that characterised the first volume, yet something here has shifted: one begins to perceive the cracks behind the smile. Not from fatigue, but from depth. Behind the humorous dust jacket and the linguistic acrobatics, the author has begun to assemble an entire world — one governed by its own peculiar laws (or rather, its own deliberate infractions of them). The first strains of seriousness emerge gradually, like a cello playing softly behind the orchestra of punchlines.
It is also worth noting that this is where we encounter the first genuine inklings of Discworld cosmology — something that shall evolve into a rich mythology, as resonant in meaning as it is abundant in trolls, elves, golems, bureaucrats, librarian-orangutans, and arcane metaphysical regulations.
If you finished the first book wondering, “Yes, but what happens next?”, then The Light Fantastic is not merely the next chapter — it is the inevitable continuation of a journey that was never about destination, but always about manic, unstoppable momentum. And now that the first foundations of this strange new world have been laid, its protagonists begin to resemble less caricatures and more... heroes. Or at the very least, people. Or something, at any rate, that carries emotions, terror, and perhaps a bit of sausage in a pouch inside the Luggage.
If you’re reading these books in order, congratulations: you’ve arrived at the end of the beginning. If not, do yourself a favour and turn back to page one — the worlds Pratchett has wrought deserve to be witnessed as they assemble, piece by absurd, affectionate, and razor-sharp piece.
Equal Rites are coming (pun intended). Hold on!